


The Taste of Fine Whiskey

by annerly



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 18:29:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18834292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annerly/pseuds/annerly
Summary: Whiskey kinda tastes like shit.  Change my mind.





	The Taste of Fine Whiskey

“B-blergh-”  
“Now, now, Master Attendant, there’s no need to overexaggerate-”  
Whiskey was promptly cut off by his attendant proceeding to gag very loudly before vomiting all over the floor.

 

“It burns and kinda chokes up in your throat. And it floods your body in waves of heat and you just feel flushed and dizzy afterwards.” His master attendant was sitting in the center of a circle of other food souls; it was something that was reminiscent of a therapy group. Whiskey would be lying if he were to say that he was not moderately offended.  
“Kinda smells weird too. I can’t describe it-”  
Admittedly, he did not wish to hear any more.  
“Master Attendant, all that matters is that you’re fine now right? We can leave the specifics out of it-”  
Several arms were thrust out to block his advancement towards his attendant, and he was met with several glares from the owners of the arms.  
The calm smile he wore on his face got a little irked-- evident by the little twitch he felt at the corner of his lips.  
Why was this his fault again? He seemed to be asking that question a lot with the addition of him to a household with both Cheese and Cassata, but this time he genuinely wasn’t sure.

It had really began with him overhearing a conversation from his Master Attendant.

Rumor has it that Vodka decided to be a little violent with their master attendant during one of her drinking sprees-- promptly deciding to punch their master attendant’s mouth. With her mouth.  
Their master attendant, though shaken with their first experience with alcohol to be like that, didn’t find it too bad.  
“Tastes just like acetone! Honestly, my tummy hurt a little and I didn’t feel so good, but hey we didn’t have to call Poison Control this time.”  
That apparently drove them to “train for Whiskey” by dragging Champagne into the mix.  
Too traumatized by Vodka’s bold encounter, they decided that “a kiss on the back of the hand” was the way to go.  
“H-huh… n-not bad…!” But Champagne saw the gag and flinch. In fact, everyone saw.  
While they were trying to preserve what was left of Champagne’s pride and dignity, they had discretely motioned over Orange Juice to grab ahold of Champagne’s coat while they did Take 2 with much better results.  
Orange Juice officially had to third-wheel the pledged food soul and master attendant party in what was known as mimosa mornings from then on.

 

And this dangerous experimentation with accumulating to alcohol was what started this mess in the first place.  
But just because his attendant was not keen on the taste of alcohol, didn’t mean that it stopped them from trying to ‘like’ the taste of whiskey.

“VANILLA GET HIM!”  
“Huh-?”  
Whiskey’s tea cup emptied its contents onto the floor as Vanilla flung himself onto Whiskey’s back.  
“NOW! CHOCOLATE!”  
Whiskey saw the brief shower of roses before the dark-haired man grabbed ahold of his arm.  
And the last sight in that series of events was his master attendant flinging themself at him.  
“PUCKER UP, EVIL MAN!”

“I thought that Bourbon Vanilla Bean Truffle Ice Cream would work…” His Master Attendant was still sitting on top of him with Vanilla and Chocolate holding his arms. Other than occasionally giving him a peck on the cheek, they simply sat on him looking confused. Unfortunately for Whiskey, this was a reoccuring event for about a week.

But that chain of events didn’t stop there.  
Things went onwards to holding hands with Steak, ‘cooking the alcohol off of him’, and him waking up on top of a graham crust with bananas, whip cream and caramel ‘baked’ into some ‘pie’.

 

Whiskey by now had accepted that his master attendant was to never truly like the taste of whiskey. That was fine by him. But this experimentation was getting ridiculous. He was beginning to somewhat understand Pizza’s mentality a little better.  
While he wasn’t as prideful as some of the other food souls like Spaghetti or Champagne, his ego was a little hurt by the repetitive processes of trying to alter and make his ‘taste’ more likable.  
But the finishing blow was the conversation he had witnessed between his master attendant and Boston Lobster when the latter was sent to the kitchen to sous-chef as punishment for accidentally destroying a part of the house.

“It tastes like shit.” The bowl of minestrone before the both of them looked of a fluorescent green.  
“You’ve tasted shit before?” the lobster remarked.  
“Oh sorry.” The spoon fell from his attendant’s hand and into the bowl with a resounding clink. “It tastes like Whiskey.”


End file.
